Prologue

Middas, the 22nd of Rain's Hand, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Vilkas sat with Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the Companions, at Kodlak's little round working table just outside his room in the barracks of Jorrvaskr. This was where Kodlak could usually be found when he wasn't busy with the business of running the Companions. There was one other chair at the table and any Companion who was bold enough could sit down, drink a brew, and talk with the Harbinger. However, even in the halls of Jorrvaskr very few were brave enough to sit in that chair. Kodlak Whitemane might be old, but his very presence was still intimidating. Among his many feats, Kodlak and his shieldbrother Skjor had once fought off one hundred and one orc berserkers and lived to tell the tale. Despite his age he could still hold his own against any Companion for at least a little while. Vilkas was among those few who would sit down in the other chair. He had spent many an afternoon at this table: drinking, talking, and laughing with Kodlak.

Today there wasn't much laughter. The Companions were beset with many problems of late, but the one that concerned him the most was personal. He was proud to part of The Circle. The Companions were the greatest heroes of Skyrim, and the Circle were the greatest of the Companions. Composed of elder and respected warriors, the Companions elevated to the Circle were intended to be exemplars for the younger warriors and advisors to the Harbinger. That system had worked well for nearly almost a thousand years. That changed a few hundred years ago when Terrfyg, who was the Harbinger at the time, made a pact with the Glenmoril witches. He became a werewolf, and he passed that gift to the Circle. Ever since then every member of the Circle was secretly a werewolf.

While most regarded lycanthropy as a curse, for a warrior was a precious gift if you had a strong will and could control the beast, as Vilkas knew from personal experience. Even without changing form, his senses were sharper, his strength was greater, and his reflexes faster. When he allowed the wolf to break free, he became a killing machine. The untold story of how Kodlak and Skjor survived the orc berserkers was that they had set the wolf free to do so. Vilkas had known the secret of the Circle before he joined. He had been eager for the gift. No one had mentioned the price. Lycanthropy was a gift from the Daedric Prince Hircine, and like all gifts of the Daedric Princes, it was poisoned. The Companions prided themselves on being the greatest and most honorable champions of Skyrim, yet none of the Circle would ever see Sovngarde. Their souls were all forfeit to Hircine. An eternity in his hunting grounds awaited them.

Kodlak had recently revealed this truth to the circle. Skjor and Aela the Huntress weren't bothered that much. They had embraced their wolf and didn't mind spending their afterlife in Hircine's Hunting Grounds. Vilkas had felt betrayed. He had always expected to go to Sovngarde, even if he was in no hurry to get there. His twin Farkas was of the same mind. Both of them were trying to resist the call of the wolf. Farkas was being more successful, which proved that smarts and will were too different things. Vilkas found it difficult to keep his wolf caged. The rage of the beast filled him all the time now. He wanted to give in and feel its power. Even though Kodlak urged him not to.

"I agree with you," he told the Harbinger. "Of course, I do, but I still hear the call of the blood."

"We all do," said Kodlak. "It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

Vilkas believed him. Somehow, the centuries-old rot at the heart of the Companions would be lifted, because Kodlak said it could be done. "You have my brother and I, obviously, but I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

"Leave that to me," replied Kodlak. He made a slight gesture with his head.

Vilkas understood. He had heard the footsteps approaching. By the footfalls there were two of them. By their smell, they were both young women. He turned to face the arrivals.

The first of the young women was short with pale blonde hair with purple eyes. She wore steel armor in the Nord style, a base of leather with steel breastplate and other panels. It was a good heavy armor offering protection without sacrificing too much mobility. She wore it awkwardly, clearly not at all accustomed to the weight. He knew her at first sight. Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt, and more importantly the Dragonborn. That meant the second young woman standing behind her with three red dragons painted on her face must be her housecarl, Sofija the Dragonslayer.

"I have come because the Companions are known to be the greatest warriors in Skyrim. Skjor sent me to speak with you," said Daenerys. She had a forceful way of speaking, polite, but resolved.

"Did he now?" asked Kodlak. "Here, let me have a look at you. Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit."

"Kodlak, you're not truly considering accepting her?" It wasn't that she wasn't worthy. She was more worthy than most who came seeking to join.

The Companions had suffered two defeats from the dragon. The first attempt involved a half-dozen Companions. None survived. Kodlak had rallied almost all the Companions for their second attempt. Only the too old and the too new had been left behind. Nearly two score men went to fight the dragon. He had been one of them. The battle had been a disaster. The dragon simply flew past them overhead blasting them with fire. Many of them were dead before the beast even deigned to land and fight them. Once it landed they gave the beast more than it bargained for. They swarmed it and injured the beast. It yielded that day retreating to the sky. After that the dragon stayed away from vicinity of Whiterun. The Companions called it a victory because they forced it to retreat, but thirteen Companions died. They could ill-afford such victories. The tales and songs said that in the Dragon Wars men had died by the thousands. For once, it appeared that the bards did not exaggerate.

The Dragonborn had managed to kill the beast with a small handful of men. There was no doubt that she had a warrior's heart. However, the Companions were more than the best warriors of Skyrim. They were built upon a foundation of equality. Every man his own. Every woman her own. The newbloods and the younger warriors followed the Harbinger and the Circle out respect because they chose to do so. They weren't sworn to follow like a warband. Daenerys had a band of followers all of them pledged to her – just like the housecarl standing at her side.

"Why wouldn't I consider her, Vilkas?. Last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies. But that wasn't what I meant. We're all equals. She has sworn followers. Her housecarl is standing right there!" He dipped his head slightly. "No offense, Dragonslayer. I'm not questioning your honor or bravery."

Sofija's only reaction was a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Kodlak chuckled. "Agreed. Sofjia Eli Vokedri, we have heard of your bravery, but Vilkas does raise a fair point. By bravery alone you are worthy of joining. However, by your oaths you are forbidden. I am sorry. If ever you leave the service of your thane, seek us out. We would welcome you."

Sofija gave a deeper nod this time and smiled slightly, but she still stood stoically one step to the left and behind her thane.

"As for you, Daenerys Targaryen, your deeds precede you as well. That you have sworn followers is known to us. Vilkas is right about it being a concern, but we have admitted thanes and others with followers in the past." He looked at Vilkas. "You should know this. We have members with wives, children, and other responsibilities. Having followers is a concern. That is all. She is brave. She is worthy."

Vilkas felt his temper rising. His inner wolf was increasingly restless since he put it on a tight leash. What Kodlak was saying was true enough, but they weren't some merchant guild with rules and regulations. They were the Companions! They were based on honor and tradition. Kodlak was bending those traditions because she was the Dragonborn. "It is not just that she has followers. It is also how she fights. We're both Nords, and I respect the power of the Thu'um, but she fights with spells and Shouts. We've always been a band of warriors."

"Always?" asked Kodlak.

Vilkas held back a growl. He knew better than most that they hadn't always been just warriors. He had read the records. He could name all of the original five hundred Companions. The surviving stories spoke only of mighty warriors, but the names told a different story: Troels the Firestorm, Helga Kynedottir, Frode Stormcaller, Tove the Healer, and others. They had originally included shaman and mages amongst their numbers. Sometime in thousands of years of history, the Companions had become the greatest warriors, not the greatest heroes. "Perhaps not always," he agreed. "But for as long as we remember."

"Is that a fact?" He glanced meaningfully over at Sofija Dragonslayer, who was a known spellblade.

"We have admitted some spellblades, but none for over fifty years." Kodlak was tripping him up. Sofija was a warrior. Daenerys was not.

"Does it matter that I have been learning to fight with weapons?" asked Daenerys. "Magic can be fickle and fail you when you need it most. A blade always works."

"You see," said Kodlak. "She is brave enough, and she is learning. Vilkas would you take her out in the yard and see how she does with a weapon?"

And while it was a request, Vilkas obeyed. "Of course." He stood up. "Well, come on. Follow me."

He led Daenerys out to their practice ground behind Jorrvaskr. The sun was setting and several other Companions were training and they all turned to watch as Vilkas led the Dragonborn to a fighting circle. "The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this. Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it."

For such a slight lass, she hit hard. Not as hard as a man, and even Njada Stonearm hit harder, but Njada was all lean muscle. Daenerys looked soft. More importantly she was clearly inexperienced. Someone had shown her how she should swing a sword, but she hesitated too much, she was still thinking about what she should do instead of just doing it. She would be better off switching to a mace until she learned a bit more. It suited her fighting style better, more strength than skill. He didn't know what Kodlak was thinking, but she didn't belong here.

He was about to tell her that she wasn't ready, but then he noticed that in their fighting they had turned around. The Throat-of-the-World was behind her and hanging above her head like the finger of the gods was the Red Comet, although some called it the Bleeding Comet or the Dragonflame Comet. The comet had appeared in the southern sky on the night that she and her followers had killed the dragon. It shone brightly across a backdrop of stars and its tail stretched across the heavens. Almost everyone agreed it was a sign from the gods, but what the gods wanted was unclear. Were they simply hailing the arrival of the Dragonborn? Or were they marking her way? When the sun set the comet appeared to be pointing to the Throat of the World where the Greybeards masters of the Thu'um dwelled. Others believed it wasn't where the comet was pointing, but where it appeared. The comet was in the southern sky, indicating that the Dragonborn should go south to Cyrodil. Regardless of the meaning, the comet was clearly an omen. Who was he to argue with the gods?

"You might just make it. But for now, you're still a whelp to us, newblood. So, you do what we tell you. Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful with it."

Daenerys looked puzzled for a moment, then she shrugged. "Very well."

A few days later while he sat in the main dining hall enjoying a mead, Ria approached him about Daenerys Targaryen. Ria was the youngest of the Companions. Kodlak had sworn her in after the funerals from the dragon debacle. Vilkas knew that she hadn't been quite ready, but Kodlak was making a statement. While some members of the Companions had died, the Companions lived on. Ria was of Imperial blood, an orphan of the Great War, but she had been raised in Skyrim. While her skills needed to be polished, there was no doubt she had the heart of a Companion. She was usually overflowed with excitement like a puppy, but she looked troubled as she approached him.

"Why the stormclouds on your face, Ria? I hear you helped Farkas and Aela take down a rogue giant."

A wide smile chased her gloom away. "We did! He made it all the way to Pelagia Farm, left a trail of damage behind. Aela shot him with arrows to get his attention and then Farkas and I took him from behind…" She proceeded to give an accounting of the battle, downplaying her own role, while heaping praise upon Aela and Farkas.

"You did good, but is that why you're here?"

"No," she sighed. "I want to talk about the Dragonborn. That is, I don't want to say anything against her. She is The Dragonborn after all, but she…"

Vilkas chuckled darkly. "Yes, she is. Sit. Have some mead. We will talk about her."

Ria sat down and poured some mead. She guzzled down half a goblet.

Vilkas had to suppress a fond smile at her actions. She was so young, still trying to impress by showing she could handle her drink. "Good. Now, let's talk. Ria, why did you join the Companions?"

"Are you kidding?" She laughed. "I've wanted to be with them since I was a little girl. I grew up on stories like Kodlak and Skjor fighting off the hundred-and-one Orc berserkers. I know, Skjor says it was more like forty, but he's just being modest. Where else would I want to be but here? Learning from the Circle, fighting at your sides." She paused for another gulp of mead and a deep breath before she resumed where she left off. "This is everything that I have ever dreamed of since I was a small child. We're the most famous warrior band in all of Skyrim. When we arrive, blood is spilled, and our blades sing to the glories of Ysgramor. This is life! The struggle is what reminds us to draw breath! This group... this family... this band... this is the best thing I've ever been a part of. The oldest fighting group in Skyrim, and nothing but glory from Ysgramor's day to our own. To be counted as part of that line is a bit of immortality. Even if I never see Sovngarde, I'll have that much."

Vilkas smiled. Ria's pure honest heart was a balm for him. This was why Kodlak had inducted her right after their 'victory' over the dragon. As long as Skyrim had heroes like her, the Companions would never die. "Ria, don't ever change. Now tell me, what it is that troubles you about Daenerys?"

Ria drank deeply from her goblet again before reply. "She just got back from her first mission. Aela sent her to Bruflat, that's a little village east of here. They lost some sheep and a little girl. It was supposed to be wolves or maybe a rouge bear. The same kind of missions that I cut my teeth on before I joined, but it turned out to be worse. It was Falmer coming out of a cave in the crags."

Vilkas winced. He hated the bloody Falmer. He wouldn't go into one of their caves alone if he could help it. "And she came back for help?"

"No." Ria shook her head vigorously. "She didn't need help. She took every one of her followers with her. They tracked the Falmer back to their cave and hunted them down, which is only to be expected. The only good Falmer is a dead Falmer. They also faced more than just Falmer. The caverns were an old Dwemer place, which shouldn't be a surprise because, well, Falmer. They woke up a Dwarven Centurion, and they destroyed it as well!"

"And you're bothered because she was sent out on a mission that was too dangerous for a newblood?"

"Uh, no." She shook her head. "Of course not. We don't really know the strength of our enemy, or even our own strength, until we are tested in battle. It is in the fight and struggle that we prove our mettle. No, I'm bothered that she took all those people with her before she even knew it was Falmer!"

"Hmm." He understood Ria's point. It wasn't that Daenerys brought help. He would have brought at least a shieldbrother with him before venturing into a Falmer cave. They liked to lure you deep into their caves and then swarm out from all sides. However, Daenerys hadn't called upon her shieldbrothers and sisters for help. She had involved outsiders. "I suppose we have to give her credit for getting the job done."

"That! That's exactly it. She got the job done. Life is a proving ground. She fought like... like an Imperial! Gather forces, surround and overwhelm." When Ria said Imperial she made it sound like a swear word.

Vilkas had to hold back a smile from the irony. This wasn't a laughing matter to Ria. She had been born in Skyrim after the Great War and raised by Nords. He was certain that she had heard many insults growing up because of her heritage. The White-Gold Concordat had never been popular in Skyrim. The only thing surprising about the Stormcloak Rebellion was how long the rumblings of discontent had simmered before they exploded.

Ria wasn't done with her rant yet. "And she acts like a merchant. She brought a cart with her when she went. An ox-drawn cart! She and her men stayed an extra two days. Do you know why? They broke the Centurion down into scrap. She bought a second cart at the village, and they hauled the whole thing back here. She brought back more dwemer metal than Whiterun has seen in years. I know we take loot. To the victor go the spoils, but we collect trophies and gold, not everything that isn't nailed down. She couldn't even sell it all. The smiths wanted it, but they couldn't afford to buy it all. And, even Eorlund got in on it! He's making her a custom set of skysteel plate armor in exchange for a big pile of Dwemer scrap. I just don't know what to think. She's The Dragonborn, but that's not how the Companions fight, or how we act. It's not what we are!"

Vilkas nodded. He understood Ria. He even agreed with her in parts, but he also trusted Kodlak. He did have good reasons for admitting her. "You're right. That's not how we fight. When we fight, it's personal. We're all equals. Every man his own. Every woman her own. However, Daenerys is the Dragonborn. She has been called upon by the gods to fight dragons, maybe even to fight Alduin, the World-Ender himself. You weren't there when we rode out to fight the dragon. We were brave, but the dragon played with us like a cat with mice. Yes, it got more than it expected once it landed, but we lost too many shieldbrothers and shieldsisters that day. Daenerys lured the dragon she fought into a trap. She had a plan, she executed it, and it worked.

"When our ancestors rebelled in the Dragon Wars men died by the thousands. Daenerys marches to war. I spoke with Kodlak about her the other day. He says we all have our weapons. I prefer two-handed blades. You use a sword and shield. Athis loves his daggers. For Daenerys, her followers are her weapons. She wielded them beautifully when she slew the dragon."

Ria frowned. She reached for more mead, but her goblet was empty. She refilled her goblet and gulped some down before she replied. "I understand somewhat. I'm not blind. I've seen the Bleeding Comet in the sky. War is coming, but still... that's not what we're about, is it? I want to be like Kodlak and Skjor, standing back-to-back against the orc berserkers. Two warriors against a horde, no quarter asked or given."

"Yes, that kind of battle is what we are about today, but don't forget how the Companions were born. We started when Ysgramor led the Return. Five Hundred Companions, brave and equal, and they chose to follow him. It was war for survival, man against elf. In war you follow orders, the Companions followed Ysgramor because they chose to of their own free will, but they followed."

"But what does that mean for us? What does it mean for the Companions?"

Vilkas had asked himself the same question many times. "It means nothing for us. Daenerys does what she has to do. She commands her followers, but she doesn't command us. She understands. She's keeping her followers separate from her role as a Companion. Don't be misled by her looting. Her followers aren't a simple mercenary band. If anything, she is trying to reforge the Blades, and she is taking them back to their roots as dragon hunters. You know she has Fultheim the Fearless training her men?"

Ria nodded. "I've heard that, and I respect the man, but isn't that another problem? We stay out of political struggles. The Empire disbanded the Blades. If we're seen as helping her restart the Blades, then people will think we're on the Stormcloaks side."

She wasn't wrong. Thanks to Vignar Gray-mane being quite vocal about saying the Stormcloaks had the right of it, many thought the Companions were already on the Stormcloak side. It didn't help that Eorlund Gray-Mane worked the Skyforge. Rumor had it that the Stormcloaks had an awful lot of skysteel weapons. Reforging the Blades would be a political move, no doubt about it. The Thalmor hated the Blades guts. As a Nord he thought pissing off the Thalmor was a great idea. As a Companion he was supposed to be neutral. "It is a problem, but Blades have been Companions before, and Companions have been Blades. Remember, each Companion has to be true to their own honor. Companions have left to fight in wars before. Daenerys is trying to ride two horses. One day, she will probably have to choose one, but that day is not today."

Ria sighed. "It's so complicated. I like things simple."

Vilkas laughed loudly. Things were never simple. "If it makes you feel better, Kodlak believes in her. We have heard rumors about another piece of Wuuthrad, and Kodlak has sent Daenerys to retrieve it. He is sending Farkas with her."

"Wuuthrad," echoed Ria in an awed voice. "I never had such an important mission before I was sworn. Do you think this rumor will be real? Eorlund says we have most of the pieces now."

"Maybe lass, we'll see when Daenerys and Farkas return."